This is an open and unfiltered diary-style journal
on the life of James Robert Smith.
This blog will contain sometimes graphic experiences (both beautiful and ugly),
sometimes stark insight, and all honest and factual documentation of dreams, diet, activity, and thoughts.

Pages

DREAM: We’ve moved into the new house. I’m forced to take the bedroom next to the kitchen, which is undesirable because of the noise I’ll have to hear like the clanging of dishes and whatnot. There’s these slender openings in the walls of each room that lead into other small closet-size rooms for storage but I can’t figure out how to get into them because the opening is so small and thin. I’m only able to slip my arm through. It doesn’t make any sense. In the corner of my room is a vent door where Anthony and Kevin buried their former pets. I open it up to find two bundles of towels. I’m afraid to smell it and also concerned because the head of my bed is so close to this vent door.

Waking up at 3:20 p.m.

Breakfast: Organic Strawberry Pop Tart. Orange Juice.

Running errands.

Carmen creates a t-shirt:

We’re confirmed to move into Chanticleer! No longer being homeless is a good feeling.

Stuffing all the boys and drums into the station wagon—the queen in the passenger seat—driving to Norfolk. Margot demands that she plug in her iphone to put on a song. She says something funny about listening to music that’s bubbly because she’s bubbly.

It’s been a long time since I’ve cruised through Granby Street and this side of Norfolk.

“Granby Street Night Life!”

Finding a parking spot near the Pagoda Garden on Tazewell Street, just like I used to do when going to Relative Theory Records (RIP) back in the day.

Anthony, James, and I grab a few slices of Pizza from Granby Street Pizza.

The crowd is starting to pick up inside The Jewish Mother Backstage. Drinking a few Lionhead beers. I step into the bathroom for a minute. A couple of guys have cameras, filming Gabe. He pulls me in and introduces me with my stage name, “Grilled Cheese”.

On stage. Gabe’s hyping up the people and spinning tracks, a remix of Rebecca Black’s “Friday” being one of them—Eric, “The Substitute”, pulsing on the drum kit—I’m pounding on my 3-piece set—cameras flashing—bodies moving—feet shuffling. It’s one of the most therapeutic feelings to have these sticks in my hands and lock into that tribal rhythm. The venue is packed to the brim with beautiful people tapping into a beautiful vibe.

“Rob—If you could hear the song in my head right now, everything would make sense. Your smile would be the tender that the storekeepers in heaven must use. Sincerely, Anthony. P.S. Here’s to the new place!!! May it be a light in a darkened world.”

DREAM: Atop a tall cylinder-like tower—it’s nighttime. Someone below on the ground is shooting medium sized bullet balls through a chute with intent on hitting me. I hold on tight to the ledges and carefully maneuver from side to side dodging the bullet balls despite their heat tracking abilities. Eventually I jump off the top and onto the ground where two fairly attractive girls, casually dressed, are huddled together inside the bottom of the cylinder structure. It’s understood they were the ones shooting at me. I lean in and embrace them, kissing one of their chests and feeling intense sexual desires. One of them spouts out, “Where’s my money? I want the money first.” “Don’t worry, I’ve got your thousand dollars right here. I’ll give it to you right now.” The scene switches. Margot and I are driving around the Target parking lot trying to find a place to park so we can have sex. She finds a spot near the front. I complain about how it’s too close and people will see us. We’re walking around now. Somehow our car has disappeared—we’re lying almost naked within the perimeter of a parking spot. I have a blue blanket and try to keep us covered up. She slips off her underwear, then we hop into a station wagon—a brown Subaru Outback mixed in with a PT Cruiser with one of those vinyl convertible coverings. In the other car next to us is a group of kids who claim we’re renting one of their cars. One of them opens the driver’s side door, intruding on us. Eventually, we’re alone.

Anthony’s on the couch reading a book—Josh is on the computer—Carmen’s sitting on the floor working on a painting.

Someone makes mention that Carmen was trying to get my attention earlier or that I was ignoring her. Whoa. No. Let me explain. “Anthony’s voice is like an elephant. I can easily recognize and ignore that. But yours is like a mouse. I can’t hear it enough to ignore it. I wasn’t ignoring you.”

At the storage unit with Gabe Niles working out a set for tomorrow’s show at The Jewish Mother Backstage. This isn’t a typical Monkey Beatz thing but I’m backing him up on drums for a deejay set.

Strawberry Yogurt.

Spending time with the queen.

Walking into the den, as soon as she sees me she says, “Little boy.” The small green shirt I chose to wear today with stripes in the center makes me appear childish. “I’m not a little boy! Look at you and your dress. Little girl!”

We go for a night walk around her neighborhood—noticing how abrasively quiet it is here compared to my side of town—the fresh rain scent and smell of spring—the upscale houses, not one alike.

Eating Popcorn with some White Wine—watching The King’s Speech [2010].

Steamy Sweaty Sex.

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”

As I’m about to walk into my house I greet Darren who’s sitting on the ledge of the porch. He’s not in a good mood—talking about doing some kind of suicidal demonstration in front of the Capital building. “I’m gonna make a shirt tomorrow that says ‘CONSUMERIST WHORE’.” Darren’s a troubled man with a lot of resentment towards the American establishment. He’s smart and knows his history. I feel the knowledge he’s obtained prevents him from happiness. I think once the truth is revealed behind everything, one can be disappointed and tend to experience a loss of hope. I wish I could help him. But really, this is nothing unusual for him to be on a soapbox.

Dinner: Lima Beans. Naan Bread with Fresh Garlic.

Newspaper route.

Instead of Coast to Coast, it’s just music for my listening entertainment.

Blueberry Donut from 7-11 and Iced Coffee.

At the Rehab Center box, my little frogger friend greets me again, this time attached to the inside of the box. [see above photo]

Back home compiling documents from Kevin, Dustin, and Anthony to apply for the townhome in Chanticleer. I made a decision earlier while I was driving to just go ahead with this rather than wait on the new house. I can always still move forward with buying the Southern Boulevard house in the near future. It’s been a hectic situation trying to figure all this out. I hate moving.

Anthony: “Earlier when you came into my thrift store I’ve never seen you so determined before, in the time that I’ve known you.”

Laying down scratch tracks for bass at the storage unit with Kal. He’s leaving Musicplayer to join the coast guard, and get married. Big steps. Big change. I hope the best for him.

Taking care of business with Anthony. We ride to CVS to get money orders for the Chanticleer deposit. Trying to pay with some cash and some on the card. They can’t do that because they only accept cash for a money order. We have to dart over to the ATM to get the rest then head back to CVS. Anthony buys me the 99-cent gummy bears.

In the car, he explains the reason why he thinks he’s gotten so close to me so fast. The log line, which he says is what production companies use to briefly describe TV shows in a few sentences…He uses an analogy dealing with pegs on a board to describe the log line of our friendship. We’re not the same. But fill in where the other isn’t. Sal and Dean.

Skippy’s over here working hard repairing the hole in the wall.

I’m in my room, burnt out, tired, nervous because I didn’t have enough time to go see the queen and I know she’s going to be upset. I give her a call. I try to describe the hectic day I’ve had. Of course, she’s disappointed and annoyed. I’m ranting because she’s responding selfishly.

“I just want you to understand me. Just be more understanding!”

At first I feel angry and tense and frustrated. I don’t know how to explain myself. It seems silly that I’m wasting this past hour talking to her over the phone when I could just be over there right now, but then that wouldn’t be enough time to constitute quality time for her, and it wouldn’t, so it’s best that I’m not. I know how she feels and I don’t want the same recurring issues we had before where I was always busy and not making enough time for her. I love her so much. I really do. Darling, be patient with me. I’m a man on a mission.

It’s been such a complicated day.

“I hate being an adult.”

Newspaper route.

Blueberry Donut from 7-11 and Hot Coffee.

No Coast to Coast AM tonight.

Feeling a surge of angst slowly resonate inside me. I’m angry and I need to let it out. This day has been non-stop in so many ways—nothing necessarily negative, if anything it was productive. Sarah McLachlan soothes me for a bit, some Slowdive, Snowden, The Smiths, and even Sufjan Stevens tries his turn at calming the nerves. But once I hear the distorted swell of Rage Against the Machine’s “Testify”, BAM! I’m all over the place. Impatient. I want to get home now! Cursing other late night drivers who tread on my road.

It’s just after 5 a.m. I pull up to my last stop, Rick’s Café, and find Anthony crouched on the curb holding an empty mason jar, which was probably filled with tap water earlier. He knew I would be pulling up soon. It reminds me of my old cat who would always be waiting by the door knowing I would be coming home soon.

I park out front of the house and express to him the attitude I’ve been feeling all night.

“I need to break something….now.”

He gets it. And encourages what’s to come. Slamming a heavy cement rock over that old wooden coffee table that’s been on the porch for almost two years. I grab the little red hammer I use to open the USA boxes and we take a walk through the hurricane force winds—hitting random discarded items and signs and walls and trees—such a release.

Back inside.

Eating a Lime Popsicle that Anthony said was free game even though the box has written on it a bunch of NO! statements.

DREAM: In the backyard of the Ocean Lakes townhouse I used to live in. It’s a normal setting but a surreal feel. I’m alongside another man who is much older than me. We’re defending ourselves from some kind of evil boss character. Just around the corner of the house he’s got a bright idea to create a big fire pit atop this ledge with newspapers. Later, we’re going to summon the fire through a time warp and surprise our enemies with a fire explosion of some kind. They’re getting closer and shouting out insulting remarks. The whole time I’m just wondering when we’ll summon the fire. They start throwing these tiny pieces of wood, light brown in color, at a Christmas tree I’m standing near. I light up the wood with some matches I find. I back away further into the yard and watch as our enemy’s Christmas tree and our Christmas tree are engulfed in flames.

My mom informs me about Moses, my old cat’s condition. They discovered he’s diabetic and will have to take insulin the rest of his cat life. Moses and I grew up together, two young souls, well, actually I’ve recently come to understand that I have an older soul than I thought—awareness and evolution of the mind is something I’ve been tracking internally. Anyway, point being, I’m going to miss Moses. He’s seen a lot of my life. If only he could talk and I could hear his memories.

Long talk with the queen while she’s bored at work—a frustrating conversation about buying the house and how she doesn’t think it’s a good idea, this and that—I have my reasons for not giving up on it because I’m so close to getting a rent-to-own deal. But we only have until next week to move out of this 1623 kingdom.

I walk into the kitchen to prepare some coffee I made earlier and find broken pieces of a Christmas ornament all over the counter and some on the carpet. Nobody seems to know how it happened, or more likely nobody wants to fess up to this mysterious incident. Carmen’s walking barefoot around the house. I would never dare do that, not even just socks. The high traffic of the housemates and guests of this caliber makes for a dangerous floor.

DREAM: Blowing bubbles towards Rachel as she’s sitting down on a stool. She responds playfully along the lines of, “Robert! Stop that. I don’t want bubbles!” There’s another girl in the room who’s understood to be a fairy similar to tinker bell. I blow one big bubble in particular and the tinker bell fairy encourages Rachel to join her inside the bubble in order to float up to the top. I watch tinker bell dive in through the perimeter of the bubble creating a protruding spike then eventually landing safely inside without popping it…

Waking up around 4 p.m.

Breakfast: Organic Strawberry Pop Tart. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Business.

Google work.

The daughters walk in (Rachel and Carmen). Carmen hands me two boxes with 8 new coffee mugs she got while she was away. She said she read about the mugs getting broken the other day and found a 50 State store with different state mugs.

Me: “Wow. This is thoughtful. Now I really feel like a dad, getting coffee mugs as a present.”

I decide to talk a walk to Target. Half a clove cigarette in my hand. Just crossed VB Blvd—following Louisa Ave just before the on-ramp to the interstate. A lady wearing a flowery dress carrying two bags is approaching. Preparing myself to nod or say hello in recognition of a stranger. As soon as there’s a close enough distance between us she starts mouthing something to me but the jets overhead drown out most of it. I can only make out something along the lines of, “Don’t ya know you’re smoking death?” After the noise in the sky dies down I allow a few minutes to speak with her. I try to explain it’s only an occasional clove. But she’s right. Her obvious thick British-like accent sounds familiar. She makes mention of the yellow shirt I’m wearing, something about how it symbolizes the sun. She keeps smiling and spouting out words with such zeal and joy—then giving me an intense embrace. I ask, “What’s your name?” She tells me her full name and then explains how “Zana” derived from it, “It means the instrument of Christ!” She asks if I know Rocky, which we then realize we met on the porch of my house a long time ago via Rocky. As I continue towards Target….Zana: “You’re beautiful, darling!” Thinking to myself, Wow. What a person. I knew there was a reason I wanted to walk.

Brainstorming with Darren about our talk show—planning out possible first topics.

On the porch—getting into a few debates about this and that—Devon and Jordan nearby smoking cigarettes. One of Carmen’s friends randomly barges out the front door and blows serious chunks splattering all over the porch.

Bike adventures with Margot, Anthony, and James.

Traversing through Bay Colony and the boardwalk—perfect air, perfect breeze, perfect night. She looks so cute on her yellow beach cruiser with shiny streamers. Stopping at Harpoon Larry’s. James needs to find an Allen wrench to fix the loose handle on his bike. In 7-11. No luck. I grab some Vitamin Water. On Atlantic Avenue riding back towards Bay Colony. Anthony gets a bright idea to take a dive into the pool out in front of the Marriot hotel.

Him: “Robert, will you give me $20 if I jump into this pool?”

Me: “No, but I’ll give you fame and glory.”

Without further thinking he takes off his shirt, entrusts me with his important pocket belongings, and jumps right in…for 23 seconds, according to him.

Crossing through the parking lot of the nostalgic old hotel. Margot entertains the idea of wanting to get married there. The Cavalier holds a special place in my heart and I’ve also entertained that idea.

We arrive back at her place. Saying goodbye to her. Something’s wrong. I try to be affectionate and loving and repeat I love you. Even the purple flowers I picked for her doesn’t suffice. But she’s irritated and I don’t know why. I guess I’ll just have to wait for the text messages I’ll receive later.

I try calling to get it out of her. But the real truth comes out in text.

Her: “And Anthony takes your attention away from me and I don’t like it. Esp tonight when I was already irritable.”

Her: “I’m not jealous of a boy. I’m jealous of someone you give more attention to when I’m around unless I get you one on one. I just wanted to hang out with you and be cute and I couldn’t do that. I got us wine and popsicles tonight but we didn’t eat them :(”

Me:“awww. baby. we’ll indulge in that another night. I promise.”

I was not expecting this kind of insecurity from her. But really, maybe I should. There’s a record on both our sides. Why should this even matter? Haven’t we past all of this mumbo jumbo? What does love mean when we say we love each other? I love you! I think it’s understood when you’re out with friends you shouldn’t expect one on one attention with any person in particular. It’s a group setting. I figured in my mind, we had a nice one on one time the night before and tonight this would be appropriate. I understand where she’s coming from if she already made plans in her head and then something changes them. It’s disappointing. I get that. But man, she’s such a queen. And I love her so much.

Dinner: Two Over Medium Eggs. Rice with Onions and Mixed Vegetables. Naan Bread with Fresh Garlic.

Newspaper route.

Coast to Coast AM—“According to the Mayans, "we are going to be hit with a pulse of energy like we have not been hit with in 26,000 years," Bara said. We have to know what to do with that energy to utilize it for the good, he continued. There are certain times and dates when people's powers to send out signals or prayers for the greater good are enhanced, he added.”

Back home—Skippy, Anthony, and Rachel are glued to the computer screen with entertainment provided by Youtube. I make a bowl of cereal (Cherrios with Brown Sugar) and join them for a hot second.

Counting quarters in my room—Rachel’s sprawled out on the futon in a bathing suit—Anthony’s copying a poem he composed today in the green rocking chair then reads it aloud to me. He’s got a way with words, or at least he knows how to articulate himself but with style.

Out on the porch strumming a simple E-A chord pattern on Anthony’s guitar, which is missing the G-string. The boys went off to pick up Josh from the beach. It’s just Darren and I—he’s off on the deep end preaching about how we’re all just slaves in so many ways—government conspiracies—religion and it’s effects on our mental health. He has the kind of voice for a radio talk show. I bring up an idea to start a talk show online, just him and I, where we discuss ad debate anything and everything.

With Anthony on the basketball courts—free throw contest—talking about body scent and how the sense of smell is closely connected to memories. Playing one-on-one. He wins 5-4.

Back to back texts from the queen…

“I want to have sex with you soooo bad!”

“Correction: NEED to <3”

“I love you”

“Come over now! I want you!”

It’s dreadfully hot in her den. It’s only a setup though for what’s to come. I grab a Caramel Cadbury Egg from the end table and place it on her hot thigh—watching the heat emitting off her body melt some of the caramel.

Sexy heat. Sexy love. Sexy queen. Kissing every ounce of her being—grabbing—touching—invigorating squeeze. I love watching you love me. The visual stimulation is overwhelming at times but I endure long enough for us to enjoy different positions. My lover you satisfy me and I love loving you.

Kevin and the boys rearranged some of the boxes I already had packed up. I discover the box full of my coffee mugs has like 8 or 10 broken mugs now caused from someone not being careful. I had planned on wrapping them up in newspapers today to prevent that from happening. Every broken mug that I pull out I slam with angst into the trashcan. Chance is scared and hides in the kitchen.

The boys are back from somewhere. Kevin walks in.

Me: “Look man, it’s just material things. So it’s not a huge deal but I’m just angry. Obviously it was a mistake so it’s whatever.”

There’s a strange accident on the corner of VB Blvd and First Colonial involving a small car half stuck underneath a semi-truck.

Dustin’s 21st B-Day Bash at the house.

I’ve retreated to my room to do some Google work.

I can hear the soup of sounds outside my room walls—rowdiness, jovialness, obnoxiousness.

Margot just got off work—she comes by to visit. She’s got on short black shorts and a bright orange Harpoon Larry’s shirt.

Me: “Look at you, sexy! You look…bright.”

Counting quarters while her and I share the day’s events—lying down together—she likes to make cute noises, like the kind you make when you’re talking to a baby. I love her—that exotic tan skin. You look delicious. I play-bite on different parts of her body. I can’t help it.

She runs off to the bathroom. I peer around the corner and spot 3 shirtless men corralling around the grey couch. Tristan is one of them, strumming a simple chord pattern while another sings nonsensical freestyle rhyme.

Dustin is being carried by two of his friends into his bedroom. I look in to check it out.

Dustin drunkenly yells out, “Happy Birthday to me!” and then blows a few chunks into a Trader Joe’s bag.

My mom calls me up randomly. It’s 2 a.m. A strange hour for her to be awake. I sense a sharp sadness in her voice. She tells me that Moses, our cat whom was with me growing up since 8th grade, is sick and leaking strange fluids everywhere. Lethargically lying in my mother’s arms. “Robert, Moses is dying. Something’s wrong with him.”

Making coffee and getting ready to leave. It was Roma’s birthday tonight too. He approaches me with grammatically incorrect English and his thick Russian accent, “Robert! Happy birthday me!” After coming from the porch he mentions, “Robert, your friends are weird.” I love Roma. He’s my boy.

Newspaper route.

My mouth is unusually dry for some reason. I do remember taking a bite of a weed brownie that somebody baked. I think that’s a side effect.

Drinking Coffee and a Blueberry Donut from 7-11.

Coast to Coast AM—interesting discussions on how altruism taken too far can be damaging—helping that hurts—people that need help but become dependent on it and never move forward. I immediately think of Kenneth—it matches so perfect.

As soon as I get home, Anthony greets me on the porch. He tells me a quick story when he was at the checkout line at Kmart earlier in the night. He told the cashier to throw in the two 2-liter sodas an old couple was buying behind him. He considered it sort of good karma as to what prevented any cops from showing up at the house.

Discovering Jamil asleep on the grey couch. It’s quite an aesthetic scene of leftover party debris, crayons, and colored pencils everywhere. I take a picture with my mind, and then with the camera.

Pinball Locomotive, Anthony and Kevin’s band, are practicing in the living room—violin, guitar, and Anthony’s sincere Jeff Tweedy-sounding voice.

I lend Richie a guitar pick and a capo to borrow.

Richie: “Thanks.”

Me: “What would you do if I wasn’t here?”

Richie: “Probably dating Margot.”

I grab the guys and we carpool to Norfolk.

At The Taphouse playing a Musicplayer show—quite a few people here including some old faces I haven’t seen in a while. It’s Kal’s last performance with us as he’s heading off to the Coast Guard in few weeks. Feeling proud of the songs and the show.

During Pilot!’s performance—just outside the glass doors—Kelly Jackson and I discussing an explanation for déjà vu and subtle premonitions in dreams, how time is just one big moment—the overlapping of everyone’s existence.

In the poolroom hanging out. Every time I see Zach Gehring he’s holding a fresh full glass of brew. Melissa Rodriguez approaches briefly and asks how I’m doing and other such catch-up questions, which is a strange because I haven’t talked to her in over two years. She’s noticeably a little drunk—she has that permanent smile on her face, similar to Anthony’s actually. She brings up an idea to go to IHOP. Anthony’s standing next to me and thinks it’s a good idea.

Family dinner at IHOP down the street. Sharing stories, jokes, laughter—Kevin continues to do one of the most accurate impersonations of Kenneth, “RUMPEL—STILTSKIN!!”

A good prank idea: label every single syrup bottle at IHOP with “snozberry”.

I left my book bag at The Taphouse and asked Doug to retrieve it before he came to join us here. It’s been about 45 minutes—he’s sending drunken texts with random letters and misspelled words that he’s on his way with Chad. They finally arrive.

My head’s starting to hurt from all this social stimulation. This is always the case when I play a show and hang out with people. I don’t know how Anthony does this non-stop. I remind him to breathe when the energy reaches certain heights.

Margot comes over—counting quarters while we talk about my living situation. We can hear the rumble of the stereo and the kids behind the walls. I’m dreadfully tired and she doesn’t approve of the constant people hanging out at the house. In my own terms I don’t always like to come home to chaos either. I love the community and the collective of people but sometimes I just want calm.

Her: How tall are you?

Me: “Five nine I think.”

Her: “Five sexy!”

Snacking on some Trader Joe’s version of Oreo’s—washing dishes.

I’m summoned by Kevin to talk to a few police officers outside who are here because of a neighbor complaint. Nothing unusual. Both of them are annoyed and threaten to start writing up tickets if they have to come back. There aren’t that many people here and in no way is it even that loud except for the music blaring on the computer, which is contained in the house. This is just ridiculous. I know the neighbors hate us and at the sight of cars parked on the street they’re immediately on watch and on reflex call the cops. I’m really ready to move out of here.

Making Pasta with Prego Sauce and Onions, and Fresh Garlic Bread.

Finishing Seven Days [2010].

Newspaper route.

Eating a Coffee Roll from Wawa with Milk.

It’s 6 a.m. Extremely exhausted. Going to sleep for a few hours before I have to catch an interview at Human Services.

Talking with Anthony, “I was at work all day and thinking to myself I can’t wait to get home and drink a cold crisp glass of Honey Green Tea.”

Kevin is impersonating Kenneth to the max.

Anthony and I take a drive though some neighborhoods to scour for places to rent. Further down Oceana we find one. As we’re passing this Baptist church Anthony comments on how much he likes the green and yellow rectangle stained glass windows. I agree on the aesthetics.

Anthony: “I just want to throw a brick through it. And not because I hate Christians but just because I think it would look good.”

In lots of ways he reminds me of Dean’s character in On the Road. He’s the catalyst to most of my adventures lately. And that was the way of it with Sal (Keroauc) in the book. I recall Margot showing mild signs of jealousy over the time I’ve spent with the kids in the house or him as opposed to spending time with her. She referred to Anthony and I as “gay lovers”. In reality, we’re just two heterosexual males who get it and, shall we say, KNOW TIME.

Back home—organizing. Starting the nostalgic process of taking down the decorations on the walls. “There’s a story for each one.” Each sign, every one of Phil’s drawings, each painting, each quote, each poster. It’s a sad feeling to remove what’s been such a stable part of this house.

Eating Blueberry Yogurt.

Continuing to organize.

Newspaper route.

Chicken and Lemongrass Spring Rolls and a Carrot.

Listening to Coast to Coast AM as usual but not really following—got a few songs and thoughts stuck in my head.

DREAM: At Busch Gardens walking around the park with Margot and John Flowers. John mentions something about Lincoln Logs. It’s understood he’s talking about the Log Flume ride. The park is almost empty. We seem to be here on a weekday or what seems like the least busy day of the year for this place. We run up to ride The Alpengeist rollercoaster. Afraid they won’t let us on for some reason but the men let us through. “Pick whatever spot you want!” I try to sit up front with John but he retreats to the second row allowing Margot and I to experience the front row. As the train clicks up the slope for the first drop I ask Margot, “You’ve never ridden this before have you?” “Nope.” “You’re gonna love it!”

Waking up just before 4 p.m.

Breakfast: Banana. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Post Office—mailing back my hydrogen fuel cell for repair—there’s some kind of leak in it.

Anthony’s thrift store is next door. He throws a big orange kickball as I walk in.

Watching a documentary called Tapped [2009] about the secrets of bottled water.

Work at China Wok.

Carpooling to Chesapeake—discovering 8 people is the capacity for my station wagon.

We drive over to the thrift store thinking we could just pick up Anthony. There seems to be no one in the store—waiting a little while hoping he’ll come out soon but we’re late for the show. Margot, in the passenger seat, is getting impatient and annoyed. She calls out that I planned this part of the night poorly. I sense her impatience. She gets this way sometimes, overly critical in a time of uncertainty. We’re always quick to blame the ones we love when things go wrong.

In a half genuinely flustered and half sarcastic tone I respond, “Okay Margot, I can’t be your robot and do everything you tell me to all the time.” It’s getting a little heated. The kids in the back take note.

Rachel places her hands on both of our shoulders, “I don’t like it when they fight.”

Me: “Baby, do you love me?”

Margot: “Not right now!”

Me: “Yes you do! You said all the time! You said you love me forever and wanted to be with me forever! I’ve got the text.”

I place my hand on her naked thigh. She doesn’t attempt to remove my hand but still says, “Don’t touch me.”

Me: “You like it when I touch you so shut up.”

She slowly forgets the whole thing.

With the queen I’ve come to learn that instead of focusing on winning the argument or using logic, I have to distract her with sweetness and remind her that she loves me and that I love her. It works most every time.

Devon and Darren are in the foldout seat in the very back. Every now and then he shouts something. Margot’s entertained by the things he says.

Margot: “Darren you’re my conscious!”

At Winston’s Café—DJ P and Mr. T perform, and then Menya—the energy is high—bodies moving.

Everyone’s making fun of my blog as usual.

Wesley: “Yeah! I can see it now, Show at Winston’s Café. Performing with Monkey Beatz. Good times.”

Anthony: “A Blueberry Donut. Sex with Margot…”

Outside snacking on Mixed Nuts and Reese’s Pieces. James Nee claims that the hazelnut isn’t a nut but a fruit. I don’t believe him.

Time for Monkey Beatz, which consists of myself on a small drum kit, Elliott wearing a red motorcycle helmet and brown jumpsuit hitting on whatever he can find, and Daniel spinning the turntables. Without any sort of rehearsal and complete improvisation, we fulfill our purpose. It’s such a catharsis when I bang on the drums—feeling an overwhelming pulse of movement and life—feeling human.

LoLa goes on to perform her spacey tribal and melodic sounds. I stand back and observe the girls go all out shaking and dancing with everything in them, especially Kelley. She seems to have a special zeal and abandon tonight. It’s invigorating and contagious to watch. Looking at the way the queen is dancing. I like to watch her dance.She has a unique and sexy twist and groove. I absolutely love it.

Back home. Kevin has pizza waiting for everyone. Eating a few slices with a Carrot and leftover Soybeans and Mixed Vegetable Rice.

I bring the queen to the storage unit—unloading the gear. Then, “Sex with Margot”.

Me: “It’s been a long time since we’ve had sex at the storage unit.”

Picking up Rachel from the house to drop her off at her place before I go to work.

I yell out for her to bring me some milk. Josh hears the request and as I approach the door already has milk filled in my personal plastic mug. “Oh, wow. Thanks!”

I can still feel the endorphins running through my body. You satisfy me.

Newspaper route.

Eating a Blueberry Donut from 7-11 with Milk.

Coast to Coast AM—Egyptologist expert talking about the theory of Black Genesis and how the pyramids were built.

DREAM: It’s nighttime and I’m exploring a storage unit facility—outside misc carts are being thrown around by the wind—there’s a major storm surge in the area. I find a cart in particular holding a collection of plants with long green stalks that stretch up at least 3 feet. Attached to the ends are various colored balloons. It’s understood in my mind that I want to take possession of this cart. It’s very difficult because of the strong wind that’s continually blowing the balloons and plants over.

Anthony knocks on the door a little after 2 p.m. and shouts, “WAKE UP! GET SHIT DONE!”

Anthony barges into my room and hands me a Thank You card. “Don’t read it now!” I open it up anyway. It reads, “Robert—Thank you for being sexy all the time. Sincerely, Anthony”

Me: “Anthony, I’ve been getting a lot of stuff done today! If you hadn’t of knocked on my door and said, ‘GET SHIT DONE’, then I wouldn’t have.”

Figuring out bills and such.

Hanging out at Rick’s Café with the gang and few new faces—sharing stories—sharing laughter and nonsense.

Snacking on a Carrot and a slice of Pizza that Kevin brought home from his work.

Continuing the routine of basketball. A little two-on-two: James and Skippy vs. Anthony and I—power plays and power shots. A cop in a good mood pulls up to the courts after a complaint from a house nearby. Us night creatures just have no place here. We want to play. They want to sleep. We want to live. They want to die.

Youtube entertainment for everyone. The Jesus Videos never get old, nor do The Dirty Daisies.

Josh takes a dose of the dream tincture. Good luck.

Newspaper route.

Coast to Coast AM—good discussions about the mind—the difference between the eastern focus on community and the western focus on the self. Being a part of a group as opposed to being alone is healthy and can even prevent heart disease. Community and generosity are infectious. Dreams are related to solving waking life’s problems. We’re all connected on a subatomic level.

I receive a picture text of Kevin on the couch from an unknown number. [see above]

Kevin and I pick up Anthony from the thrift store. We park in the driveway of the potential new house to rent that’s two doors down from us. Darren shows up—the four of us standing there waiting for the owner to meet with us and show the house. A guy in a golf cart pulls up. He asks, “Who’s the guy that I talked to on the phone?” Anthony butts in and introduces himself. The guy immediately recognizes some of us with disdain and says, “I know who you guys are,” and shakes his head and reverses away—signaling for us to leave. I can barely get a word before he dips out, “Wait, what’s the problem?” Apparently, we’ve developed a bad rap on this block and everybody hates us here. I know Kenneth had some issues with the guys that used to live here too, so maybe that’s why he shunned us so fast. Either way, this is complete bullshit. He didn’t even bother to talk with us or find out our story. Was not expecting that at all. It’s a shame because this would’ve been a perfect place to live.

Work at China Wok.

The phone rings at work—Rachel and her father are on the other line to order Chinese food. I talk to her dad briefly, which is strange because of my role as fake dad to Rachel.

We all head to the basketball courts—getting rowdy—attempting to make shots sitting on the ground.

Peach Apricot Yogurt.

The kids are watching Fantastic Mr. Fox in the living room.

“Where you going , Robert?”

“Where I want to go.”

Visiting the queen at her place. I walk into the den to find Desperate Housewives on the TV.

Me: “Turn that off please. Will you turn that off please?”

She’s distressed about her busy day at work. It’s a nice time though—chatting while I stretch my body out and eat chocolates. Still in her work clothes (jeans and a Harpoon Larry’s T), she changes into something more comfortable. Nuzzling my face in her wondrous bosom. On the couch having sex. We both needed this.

She doesn’t get how I think she’s the most pretty or the most beautiful.

Her: “I’m sure there’s other people out there.”

Me: “No it’s true you’re so beautiful. If Catherine Zeta Jones was standing next you I would say you’re more beautiful.”

Anthony and James are giving me a hard time about my blog.

“How was your time with Margot? Oh, I guess I’ll just read about it tomorrow. [haha]”

“Somewhere between the grilled cheese and the blueberry donut…”

James is pretty drunk and full of spunk right now, dominating the vibe, dancing in the kitchen. He informs me of this theory his dad told him about how the trees themselves have an agenda to kill off the human race.

James: “Have you ever looked at the roots of a tree? There’s no grass!”

He mentions something about the acidity from the leaves preventing the grass from growing and so on. I continue listening. It’s a valid theory in my opinion from everything he’s telling me. His dad is a smart and intuitive man. It reminds me of the plot from M. Night’s The Happening [2008].

Arriving at my last stop, Rick’s Café, James and Anthony come running out of nowhere to greet me. Anthony is pretending to be drunk. As we reverse out of the parking lot one of the cop regulars is standing there at the checkout through the window smiling at us.

Back in the house, I discover random dog biscuits scattered throughout the house. Anthony’s explanation is Richie gettin’ live.

In my room.

Me: “Anthony, do you ever stop? Like the energizer bunny, do you ever lose energy?”

I invite Anthony to try the dream tincture I used to take a long time ago for vivid dream enhancement. Just one tablespoon. I warn him of the bad taste but assure him it works.

DREAM: Hanging out in a café somewhere in Harrisonburg, Virginia. I watch Doug and someone else ride in a car outside. They drive right through the glass windows and into the café—glass and tables shatter. Smiles on their faces as if it was a joke. Nobody seems to be freaked out by what just happened. The owner of the place doesn’t have a blatant reaction but I can tell he’s annoyed. I stand up in the far end of the room and get everybody’s attention, “I have something to say!” I gesture my hands to quiet the crowd. “Please respect the buildings in this city and respect “the art”!”

Waking up around 4 p.m.

Breakfast: Cream of Wheat with Brown Sugar and Milk. Orange Juice.

Chatting with Anthony in my room about the possibility of moving two doors down into the house that just went up for rent. It seems to be the stronger plan. The financing to own the new house by the railroad tracks is becoming more and more complex for me. We’ll see what happens.

Work at China Wok. Bad weather brings good business.

The water falls from above—waiting at a stop light for at least two minutes—I start to feel the comfort that a storm like this can bring—it’s therapeutic—hypnotizing. I’m amazed at the effect the weather has on one’s mood and day.

The sky cracks open with a rainstorm out of proportion. It’s nice to have this pollen wash away but I’m getting soaked—in and out of the car—hoping the customer’s abode has covering over their front door.

Emily: “i am working late, but thought that the storm would set me free. looks like no such luck :(”

Me: “the truth will set you free.”

Emily: “yes but sometimes being free is kind of scary, isn’t it? that’s why we lie”

Delivering on order down by 59th street on Discovery Road. The driveway of the house is a long steep hill. Once I make it to the top, I find beautiful crushed rock steps that lead to a deep burgundy colored home with a uniquely decorated garden. The whole place is almost dream-like and feels familiar. I think I’ve been here in a dream once.

Finishing up the last three orders—slurping down some Vegetable Lo Mein while I drive—the brown sauce spilling on the side of my door without me knowing.

Strawberry Yogurt and Honey Green Tea.

We’ve decided to have a DC (designated cleaner) when we have people over at the house, kind of like a DD (designated driver). I don’t think this will last long.

The queen comes over bearing an Easter basket with a cute felt robot design on it full of chocolate goodies and the Fantastic Mr. Fox DVD. She’s thoroughly satisfied with the card she picked. [see above photo]

In my room, counting quarters as we recall the stormy day.

She’s getting antsy for some lovin…“Are you gonna be affectionate with me sometime soon?” I can’t help but giggle and smile at her cute demanding demeanor. Over the years, I’ve grown so fond of her and all the little characteristics that make her who she is.

I grab her hand and move us to the futon—massaging her neck and back.

She persists in touching me down there.

Me: “He’s tired.”

Her: “No he’s not. He wants to play.

She pulls it out—barely touching and watching it grow. Enamored with it she says, “I’ve never seen him grow like that. Look at him!” It’s comical that she always personifies my penis.

By myself, Anthony knocks on the door. I yell obnoxiously, “WHAT!” (because no one can ever hear me respond). Looking at the Easter basket, amazed at all the goodies in it he says, “You don’t need to look any further. Heaven’s right here where Margot is.”

Anthony’s reading a book with his feet dangling out of the attic. I’m eating a carrot.

Him: “Is that an everyday thing for you?”

Me: “Yeah you know, a carrot a day keeps the doctor away.”

Him: “A verse a day keeps the devil away.”

Newspaper route.

Drinking Iced Coffee with a Blueberry Donut from 7-11.

Coast to Coast AM—discussion with experts on the future of virtual reality.

Back home—taking on the role of designated cleaner. I can’t help myself—washing dishes—taking out the recycle bin, which has to be dumped everyday via all the bottles and cans of alcohol that are consumed. I love the steam created from the hot water and how it envelops my face—the act of renewing something that is dirty is a good feeling.

Eating an Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato along with some of these chocolate goodies.

Arriving at The Chidester House where a guy named Janus and his parents have been putting on shows here for about 2 years. It’s more spacious than it seems from the outside—a cute bungalow in suburbia Fredericksburg. An out of tune piano—misc paintings hung on the walls—a vibrant and positive energy in this place. A plethora of food set up in the kitchen by the mom.

Having some Pasta and Garlic Bread with Ginger Ale.

Listening to the first band, Think Big, and reclining on a spinning chair signing a letter in the guestbook for the house.

Performing our Musicplayer set—no PA system except for a mike running through a guitar amp, which didn’t sound half bad from what I hear.

Afterwards, talking with Janus’s dad about how important places like these are for the music/art community.

On the drive home—we find a Sheetz gas station. There’s no question about stopping.

Kal: “I love Sheetz!”

Eating a Cake Donut with Milk and a Banana.

Getting into an invigorating guy talk with Kal and Chris on topics ranging from marriage to fundamentalism to sex to the evolution of language.

Sharing some of Coast to Coast AM.

Dropping the guys off at their cars.

I have to rush to the storage unit to unload all the gear—all the while on the phone with the queen chatting about this and that. The subject of marriage pops up and the ideal timeline of when we were to elope if we were to. I try to explain that we still need to date for a while before any decision of engagement is made. Two months ago there was a lot of messy confusion on her end.

Her: “But I want to be with you.”

Me: “Baby, I know. And I want to be with you, too. I don’t think we’re ready to make that kind of step yet.” She’s so cute and full of romantic loveliness. I don’t have many reasons to not marry this girl. But…in time.

Stopping by the house—the kids are getting live on the porch. I ram right into the chaos and into my room to grab the clipboard and coin bin. The kids are clamoring to me to say hello and get their two cents in. I seriously feel like a father with little kids of my own constantly trying to grab my attention. There’s a reason why I call my new housemates and the friends associated with this house “kids”. It’s always playtime. It’s always livetime. And for me? It’s always worktime. Who needs kids when I have these kids?

Newspaper route.

Snacking on Salt n Vinegar Chips and a mini bag of Sun Chips Carmen gave to me yesterday.

I’m rushing to get the route done while the open lines of Coast to Coast entertain and enlighten me. After this I will have driven almost 400 miles today. I’m exhausted.

DREAM: I’m the sister of a female main character in a story/movie. A guy that looks like John McCain has been conducting these social experiments on my sister where he’s in control of her life but expands her horizons and decisions—at one point even saves her from dying in a car crash. He uses the concept of parallel realities and is able to exist in two at once. Nearing the final scene: just got off the plane—walking through the airport. I notice the John McCain character out of the corner of my eye sifting discreetly through the crowd. I rewind the scene in order to catch him. There he is! I pull him aside, “Hey. Can I just talk to you for a second?” He’s a quiet man, a little reluctant, but sits down with me. “I just want to say I know about your experiments.” I sense he’s a little uncomfortable but I think he knew this would happen, me talking to him like this. “What you did was important. You helped my sister...you changed one’s…well, you gave people choices.” With his head down he responds with a few yeah’s. He gets up from his seat and goes around the corner to retrieve something for me. As I’m standing there, tip toeing on a ledge, I start whimpering uncontrollably. For some reason the emotion of the moment is too much to handle. Behind me I notice a gerbil behind a plastic wall wearing a lion’s wig. He’s got big black eyes. Another kid standing nearby is talking about how dumb and silly gerbils are.

Trying this bottle of wheat beer that Kal gave to me called Son of a Peach—it tastes like a peach tree, delicious—all the kids are getting “live” in my room (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=live). Discussing the possibility of moving in two doors down from here—Plan B.

Thanks Anthony for the Hershey’s Chocolate Bar.

Google work—trying to drown out the distractions around me.

In the kitchen—I slip into a Rachel hug, “Every time I see you I just want to pet you.”

There’s a couch surfer here from DC—she’s a journalist I hear—taking photos of the mayhem—Josh strumming guitar alongside Kevin wailing on the violin.

Newspaper route.

Coast to Coast AM—discussions with a UFO historian about newly released FBI documents that recount flying saucers in New Mexico.

The queen is worrying me because she was out later than usual—on the phone with her, showing signs of insecurity. She loves me though. I know that. I just have a hard time trusting her around other male beasts when she’s inebriated.

DREAM: In a big gymnasium-like room, hovering and floating around. A big orange Bengal tiger is following me non-stop. Every time he tries to jump up to me I elevate a little higher. The tiger finds things in the room to boost himself up on and gain altitude. This forces me to fly even higher, uncomfortably higher.

After researching, I’ve officially decided to never drink tap water again. The damage that fluoride can cause is detrimental to the health of my body and mind. The studies and research are overwhelming and difficult to sort through on what the healthiest and safest type of water to drink is. My conclusion? Spring water: no harmful chemicals like fluoride and chlorine, minerals still present, acts as a detox for the body, and better taste.

My Aunt Pansy and her husband take a look at the house with me. They’re expertise and experience in buying homes is helpful.

Poker and mayhem at the house—Roma, Art, James, Devon and Darren.

Kevin brings home pizza from his work—eating a slice and some rainbow sherbet via James.

Jamil is back from New York!

Google work.

Power napping.

The queen is stuck at work closing unexpectedly. She sends me a relationship request on Facebook. It’s weird to think that in the beginning of this whole thing her persistence had a magical effect on my heart and now, my persistence has had a magical effect on her heart. Is this just an individual struggle we face to avoid the uncomfortable nature of separation? Or is this true love? In time we’ll see. We’re both a lot to handle in our own ways. I told you I’d be waiting in our kingdom for you to return. It didn’t take long. I half-expected that. Because I know how connected you are to me.

The kids on the couch are eating those mini-oranges called kumquats. They discover it almost sounds like an insult to call someone a kumquat, which is a person that behaves to that of the taste of the fruit, which is sour to start then sweet later on. Of course as I walk by them I am labeled with this new term. Jokingly I continue to act bitter.

“Rob, we’re waiting for the turn around.”

“No! I’m a big kumquat. It takes a little longer to get to the sweet part.”

Dinner: Lentils and Mixed Vegetables with Fresh Garlic Naan Bread.

Newspaper route.

Coast to Coast AM.

Drinking Iced Coffee with a Blueberry Donut from 7-11.

Just as I’m pulling up into the driveway, Kelley and Anthony are playfully bickering like the married couple that they are. I roll the window down—Chance is barking—counting up the figures for the newspapers as Kelley persists to show me her bruises and red marks caused from Anthony.